


Never Know How Much I Love You

by Byrcca



Series: I Get A Fever That’s So Hard To Bear [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s03e16 Blood Fever, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:52:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: ‘He could still feel the bite pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, remembered the sting, made more painful by emotion and surprise.’ A little ‘what if they really did it on Sakari’ story.





	Never Know How Much I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> This story was heavily influenced by a fantastic story Things That Follow by The Croc Shop on ff.n. It got the wheels turning, and I was able to use a line I’ve been wanting to use for a while. Angst, introspection, melodrama, and bad language. And lots of quotes from the episode. Whoop!

~~ 

_**You just stay away from me**_

Tom closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his hands allowing water to splash onto his collar and run down his arms to his elbows. He’d pushed up his sleeves but his cuffs were soaked. He straightened a bit and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. 

_**You’ve never been hard to get, Tom.**_

He angled his head and stared at the spot high on his jaw; the skin was unblemished except for his five o’clock shadow, just starting to grow in. He sighed. 

_**You get your hands off me!**_

He could still feel the bite—her bite—pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, remembered the sting, made more painful by emotion and surprise. Of course, there was no trace of it now, Kes had seen to that. While the doctor was busy with Vorik and B’Elanna, he’d ordered Tom _out of the way_ , and Tom had hovered in the Doctor’s office watching through the clear walls as he’d checked their vital signs and pumped them with triox compound. _Forget him,_ Tom had wanted to shout, _concentrate on B’Elanna!_

By the time the Doctor had examined them and got them both stabilized, Tom had had time to catalogue his own injuries: bumps and bruises, various lacerations to his knuckles and various limbs, a lump on the side of his head that was threatening to bloom into one hell of a shiner if he didn’t get it looked at soon. Five small, crescent-shaped puncture wounds on his right hand. And a bite on his jaw, just below his left ear. _Jesus._

_**I've picked up your scent, Tom. I’ve tasted your blood.**_

She’d bitten him twice, actually, the second time atop the first, cutting through the clotted blood, lapping at him with her tongue. The second time hadn’t hurt; pain was lost in a zing of arousal and pleasure.

_**You see, I’ve wanted this for so long. Just let it happen.**_

Chakotay had offered him the day off, warned him that he expected a full report, hadn’t confided to him what he was going to do with it once he had it. Tom had insisted on taking his shift at the helm, wanting to return to normalcy. Big mistake. He hadn’t considered who might have been onshift yesterday, who might have been listening when he called _Voyager,_ shocked and confused, after Neelix had fallen and B’Elanna had... _gone Klingon._

_**I tried to stop her from leaving, but she got very hostile and bit me.**_

He towelled his face and arms dry, then pulled his turtleneck over his head and stuffed it in the ‘fresher. Damn. The questions plain on Harry’s face, the look Jenkins had shot him just before she gave him the helm. Dammit. He wondered how long it would take before it was all over the ship. He could count on Harry not to say anything, at least not publicly, but he’d been off yesterday morning while they were on the planet. Who had been at ops? 

_**It’s difficult to estimate how soon her condition will become life threatening.**_

He’d written the report last night, not bothering to gloss over anything since Chakotay had been there, at least for part of it. 

_**She_ bit _you?**_

But he’d been formal, shuttling aside his own questions and tangled emotions, keeping to the facts. _Just the facts, ma’am._ Sure. Janeway would read it. Would read them all: his, Chakotay’s, Tuvok’s, Neelix’. She would piece it all together, but he doubted she’d make any more sense of it than he had. _B’Elanna’s…_ He wondered what she was thinking. She probably hated him now. 

_**No. No it isn’t. I was, I was just afraid to admit it.**_

One step forward, two steps back. Not exactly the dance he’d had in mind. _Fucking Vorik._

_“Commander Tuvok to Lieutenant Paris.”_

Dammit, why couldn’t they leave him alone? “Paris here.”

_“Please report to my office immediately.”_

Tom closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. Breathed. “On my way.” 

He had to ask the computer for directions. It made sense, of course, that Tuvok had an office, thirteen department heads reported to him including himself. He wondered if it irritated Tuvok that he’d always just tracked him down, on the bridge, in the mess, to hand in his reports. Tom really didn’t care. 

“Enter.”

God forbid Tuvok should say _come in._ “You wanted to see me, sir.” Tom stood at attention, formal, guarded. 

“At ease, Lieutenant.” Tom slipped into parade rest and focused on a point just past Tuvok’s left ear. The office was small: a desk, computer, two chairs. And a spindly, flowering plant under a grow light. _Who knew?_

“Sit down.” Tuvok motioned to a chair. 

“I’d rather stand.” 

“As you wish.” 

_Just say it!_ Tom thought, irritation rippling through him. _Whatever it is, just fucking say it._

“I would be remiss in my duties if I did not inform you that you have a right to file a grievance in the matter that took place on Sakari IV, Lieutenant.” 

Whatever Tom had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “A grievance?” 

“Yes. You have been the victim of a crime, formal charges against the perpetrator is one recourse.”

Tom’s shoulders hunched, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’d rather just beat the shit out of him again,” Tom growled. 

_**You want a fight? You’ve got one!_ **

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “You are referring to Ensign Vorik.”

“Of course,” Tom exploded. “Who else? Wait a minute…you don’t mean…?”

“Lieutenant Torres. By your own admission, she attacked you, caused you physical injury.” 

_**You get your hands off me!**_

“You also have grounds to pursue a charge of sexual assault.”

“Sexual…” Tom spun away from him, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “If anyone should be pressing charges, it’s her!” 

_**You are my mate, not his!**_

He strode one and a half paces to the far wall, one and a half back to the desk. “She was the victim in all this.”

“I have already offered that option to Lieutenant Torres.” 

“And?” Tom demanded. The Vulcan remained stoically silent. “Right,” Tom murmured. “She won’t talk to me, won’t even look at me. The last thing I’m going to do is… She probably hates me now, anyway.”

_**You can’t tell me you’re not interested in me.**_

“Lieutenant Torres is a highly emotional being, and is feeling acute embarrassment at the events of the last day. However, I believe that the friendship you have with her can survive if you give her time to consider all the factors that led to the incident on the _surface_ of the planet.”

_**You’re right, I can’t.**_

“The incident,” Tom murmured. He shook his head. “Have you ever wanted something so badly, Tuvok, and then when you get it, it’s all twisted and soiled and turned to _shit?!_ And you know there’s nothing you can do to make it better, to go back to where you were before?” The vulgarity felt good, but Tuvok barely batted an eyelash. He’d lived with humans too long.

“You are in love with B’Elanna.” It was a statement. 

Tom’s head snapped up at that. He finally looked Tuvok in the eyes. “I… Yeah. I guess I am. But that’s ruined now.”

“Perhaps,” Tuvok conceded. “Perhaps not. Remember that she chose you over all her other options.”

_**I am not your mate!**_

“What options? Neelix?” Tom laughed at that. “Forgive me, he’s a nice guy but he’s not really leading man material.”

“You stated in your report that she was agitated, combative, before you beamed to the planet. I believe that she was undergoing the early stages of the _pon farr_ even then. She challenged you, chose you, over all the other males on the ship.”

_**Unless, of course, you want to stall to put off demonstrating your climbing expertise.**_

“I further believe that once she regains her equanimity, she will see that there was no other course of action than the one you followed.”

“Her equanimity,” Tom repeated, shaking his head. “We can’t _unfuck,_ Tuvok!” This did cause his eyebrow to rise, and Tom felt instant shame at his use of the word. 

“You were following orders, Tom. My orders. The situation had escalated to the point where you had no choice but to have sexual relations with her if her life were to be saved.” 

Of all the things he’d done in the line of duty, good, bad, and in between, this had taken the cake. _Semper fi_ , indeed. The use of his given name wasn’t lost on him, either. Psychology 101. Tuvok must be taking lessons from Chakotay. But Tom didn’t want a counsellor right now; he didn’t want to feel better. He flopped into a chair, finally running out of nervous energy. 

“Actually, what I want is for this whole thing to go away.”

“Are you suggesting I falsify my report?”

“No,” Tom said, “just forget it happened. No charges, no logs, no damn report.”

“Unfortunately, I have already forwarded my preliminary findings to the Captain and Commander Chakotay. This cannot be undone.”

“No kidding.” Tom scrubbed his face again; he was exhausted. 

_**I’m fine, no thanks to you two. I would have done better coming down here alone!**_

“Can I go now?”

“Yes. However, if you wish to revisit—“

“I won’t.” And Tom was on his feet and gone. 

~~

_**You must help her now, Mister Paris. If she does not resolve the pon farr, she will die.**_

He knew he’d dream about her, knew he’d relive that whole strange, nightmarish day if he let sleep take him. Knew he’d remember the feel of her strong, slight body against his, the strength of her muscles, the softness of her skin, the heat of her. The feel of her mouth on his own. It was exquisite torture, and certainly the hottest sexual experience he’d ever had. 

_**I've picked up your scent, Tom. I’ve tasted your blood.**_

He faced a stare-down in the mirror redux, and concluded that he still looked like shit. His door chimed, and for a moment he thought it might be her. Fat chance. “Come.” 

He braced himself for Chakotay’s smothering concern, but Harry waltzed in, glancing around, oozing nonchalance. “Hey, how's it going?”

“What do you want, Harry?” It was rude, and unnecessary, and Harry didn’t deserve his bad mood. 

“You look like hell. What the hell happened down there?”

“You haven’t heard all the gorey details, yet, Harry?”

_**She bit you?!**_

“I’ve heard some things. I’m asking you, though.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going to talk about it.”

_**This isn’t about the gun, this is about sex**_

“So something did happen?”

_**But that’s not gonna happen right now.**_

“Harry,” Tom warned. 

_**I think it is.**_

“Well, you still need to eat breakfast. And I’m heading to the mess hall. Two against everyone else. We’ll stare ‘em all down.”

Harry smiled, and he looked so damn young Tom wanted to cry. “Have...have you seen her?”

“She’s been in engineering, working on the warp coil refit. She refused to eat with me last night.” He shrugged. “She doesn’t want to talk to me, either.”

“Must be your charming personality,” Tom deadpanned.

“I dunno. I thought maybe you two were planning a surprise party for my birthday.”

That threw Tom for a second until he realized Harry was teasing. His birthday wasn’t for another eight months. He should get him something nice, he deserved it. He was a good friend. 

_**No. No. I’m your friend and I have to watch out for you when your judgement’s been impaired.**_

“You ready?”

“I’m waiting for you.”

“Then let’s go.”

~~

She was in the mess hall, her back to the wall, sitting with Chakotay, of course. She looked up when he and Harry entered, and he caught the flash of panic in her eyes before anger flared instead. He saw her body stiffen, her jaw tense, from across the room. She closed herself off from him as clearly as if she’d erected a wall. 

_**If you let these instincts take over now you’ll hate yourself and me too for taking advantage of you.**_

He wanted to go to her, to cross the room and force her to talk to him, to look at him. Shake her if he had to. But she was standing now, and so was Chakotay, clearing their trays, taking the long way around to avoid him, leaving by the other door so she wouldn’t have to walk past him. He should go after her, chase her down. With Chakotay as mediator, maybe she’d be willing to talk. Chakotay would agree, surely. He’d be in his element. Tom snorted: snowball’s chance.

Harry sent him quizzical look. “You sick?”

“No. You know, I’m not very hungry after all.” People had started to notice him. Surreptitious glances, whispers...he had to get out of there.

“Tom! It’s good to see you back on your feet!” Neelix bustled out of the kitchen and clapped him on the back. 

“I should be saying that to you, Neelix. You’re the one with the broken leg.” 

“Oh, I’m fine,” Neelix brushed aside his comment. “The doctor fixed me right up. You know, I saw Ensign Vorik at dinner last night. He’s doing just fine, too. Well, I think his nose might be a little crooked now…” His tone dipped in confusion, no doubt trying to conjure a mental picture of Vorik’s nose.

_**If anyone’s going to smash your arrogant little face in, I will!**_

“And B’Elanna’s here...oh. Where’d she go?”

Was he always so damn loud? Why the hell didn’t he shut up about B’Elanna? Couldn’t he see that people were staring? Of course, he didn’t know. He couldn’t know. He was long gone by then. 

“How about some nice Antarian omelette for breakfast? I can whip some up for you in a jiffy.”

“Sounds good, Neelix! We’ll be over there.” This from Harry. A little too much forced joviality. “Here’s a free table.” He took Tom by the arm and propelled him toward the table that B’Elanna and Chakotay had just vacated. 

They sat, and Tom could smell her all around him. The scent of her hair, her skin. Her seat was still warm. He drew in a ragged breath. “They’re all wondering what happened,” he said, irritation rippling through him, snapping at his nerve endings. 

“Let them wonder,” Harry shrugged.

He needed to talk to her. He was afraid to talk to her. He was afraid to make things worse.

_**Oh, it’ll take a little more than that to impress me, Lieutenant.**_

“ _petaQ,_ ” he muttered, talking to himself.

~~

Vorik stopped him in the hallway outside the mess hall, attempting to apologize, formal and so _fucking logical_ in his buildup. 

“Forget it,” Tom said, cut him off, pulled Harry away.

~~

_**You see, I’ve wanted this for so long. Just let it happen.**_

He’d bitten her. He never imagined he had that kind of violence in him, sexual violence, and it threw him. Unnerved him. Shamed him. He was just following her lead, reacting to her breathy commands, her insistence. And he’d thrilled in it! Felt free. Revved up. Her teeth in his jaw, her nails on his bare chest, he’d never been so turned on. They way she’d practically growled at him, purred. Her high, sharp gasp of pleasure when he’d sunk his teeth into the soft, fleshy skin between her shoulder and her throat. The scent of her washing over him, he’d been in a lust fuelled daze, a red haze before his eyes. 

Bullshit! Her behaviour he could excuse, Vorik, too, if he were being fair. But he had no hormonal imbalance to blame for his own actions. 

_**You must help her now, Mister Paris.**_

He’d tried blaming Tuvok, Chakotay. _Have sex or die_. It was prurient, adolescent. It hadn’t been easy, fighting her off with a tent pole in his pants, especially in that tight climbing suit, but he’d managed. Even after she’d kissed him, and he’d wanted to devour her whole. Because, irony warning: he knew he couldn’t take her because he wanted her so badly. Still did. Then, when they were finally on the surface, to be ordered to—

_**What are you doing?!**_

His back hitting the ground; the breath knocked from him. Her groin grinding into his erection as she straddles him.

_**Enjoying myself?**_

Her strong, lithe body beneath him as he rolls her over, arching toward him, straining to get closer, then flipping him onto his back and pinning him down again. 

_**Then show it!**_

Hot breath on his ear, her mouth grazing his jaw, soft, wet tongue laving the bite she’d put there. Her hands tearing at his climbing suit, pulling down the fastener and yanking it off his shoulders, his arms pinned in the fabric. The look in her eyes, and his sudden realization that they were really going to do this. And his doubt that it was really him that she wanted, that it could have been anyone with a dick and a stout constitution. Her tearing his undershirt, then dipping her head to his chest, nuzzling his chest hair and grazing his nipple with her teeth. He’d bucked against her as pleasure zinged straight to the small of his back.

“B’Elanna!” Her name was a benediction on his lips. A prayer. “Please…”

She’d looked at him then, heavy lidded and sultry with desire, her plump lips parted, and sighed his name, “ _Tom…_ ”

And that was it. He was lost in her. 

Pulling the collar of her undershirt down to expose her chest, her breasts in his hands, sucking her nipple into his mouth. The quick catch of her breath, her fingers in his hair, nails digging into his scalp. Rolling her onto her back, pinning her with his weight. Pulling off her climbing suit, taking her underwear and boots with it. Lowering his own just enough to free himself, then driving into her knowing that by taking her, he was losing her. He’d wanted to weep, from the pain of it, from the joy of it. 

Her body bowing beneath him, arcing upward, her teeth on his jaw, again, breaking the skin, again, and her sharp, high bark of pleasure when she came. His orgasm quickly following. Had he shouted? Had he said her name, or just grunted some guttural prayer to her? 

Then Vorik, ripping him off her, momentum propelling him to the ground, him rolling onto his back leaving himself exposed; leaving her exposed. 

_**You are my mate, not his!**_

Chakotay and Tuvok bursting into the clearing. Them scrambling to their feet, Tom trying to shield her as he pulled up his pants.

_**If anyone is going to smash your arrogant little face, I will! I take your challenge myself.**_

B’Elanna flying at Vorik, half naked and glorious. Blood on her mouth as Vorik lands a vicious punch: Tom’s and her own, mingling bright red. And Tom shaking off Chakotay’s restraining hands, lunging at Vorik, landing a few punches of his own. It was short and vicious, and Tom luxuriated in the violence of it. 

_**You want a fight, you’ve got one!**_

He’d wanted to throttle him, take out his anger and frustration on the man who had ruined his hopes. He settled for a punch in the gut that doubled him over, a knee to the jaw that knocked him on his ass. B’Elanna kicking him in the ribs with such force that Tom heard the crunch of bones breaking, and his stomach lurched. Vorik had stayed down after that. B’Elanna stumbled, confusion on her face, and Tom gathered her in his arms, trying to cover her nakedness. She leaned heavily against him, and started to lose consciousness, and Tom was afraid that Vorik had hit her too hard, that she was slipping into a coma. 

It took forever to get communications back up. Time enough to get her dressed, to grab the emergency medkit from the shuttle Vorik had used, to scan her and worry. 

_**Give me that.**_

Chakotay, crouching over Vorik and reaching for the medical tricorder, and Tom wanting to snarl, _let him rot!_

He’d held her, her head on his chest, until they were beamed directly to sickbay. Until the doctor took her from him, placing her on a biobed, shoving him away, _“Get out of the way!”_ And him retreating into the Doctor’s office, impotent and afraid with worry.

After Kes had cleared him, he’d been ushered out of sickbay, _“Are you still here?”_ and he’d trudged back to his quarters, more by instinct than purpose. He was greeted by a message on his computer from Harry, which he ignored, and another from Chakotay, which he couldn’t. 

“I’m sorry, Tom, I know this is difficult, but I’ll need a report from you as soon as possible. Tomorrow at noon if you can. Take the day off to write it.”

He’d had the foresight to replicate dinner first, then he’d blown the rest of his rations on a hot shower, staying under the spray until he was pruny and the water ran out. Then he’d stayed up half the night staring at a padd, trying to make sense of the last twenty-four hours. Trying to come to terms with his own role in the events. Trying not to blame Chakotay. 

Her excitement in the transporter room, her verbal foreplay so obvious now. He’d thought she was just anxious to get on with the mission. Her quick anger after Neelix’ fall, her nostrils flaring, eyes flashing. Biting him, then her shock at what she’d done. Her retreat from it, from him, as she stomped away down the tunnel.

Leaves in her hair, dirt smudged on her face, and the sultry expression in her dark eyes as she backed him against the cave wall. The taste of her as she kissed him, softly, seductively, her scent enveloping his senses. 

The confusion on her face as he led her to the clearing, turning to a look of lust and possession when she tore open his shirt. _“More, Tom.”_ Her mouth on his chest, tongue and teeth skimming his skin. His cock hardened at the memory.

 _“You sick fuck!”_ he thought.

~~

Tom waited for the ‘lift, reviewing the padd in his hand, trying to concentrate. The doors opened and he took a half step forward before he looked up. He froze. B’Elanna was standing in the back of the ‘lift, her own padd clutched in her hands, staring at him. He stood there between the open doors: step forward? run in the other direction? 

He strode into the ‘lift and stood beside her, facing forward. He imagined he could feel warmth radiating from her body. “Deck two.” His voice was even. Plunge in, feet first. “It looks like you’re feeling better. Are you back on duty?”

“Yes,” she answered, her voice soft, rusty. “Yes. I’m fine, thanks. The, um, the refit is going well. We should have new warp coils by the end of the week.”

“Oh, good. Glad to hear it.” Now what? 

“Is that your conn report?” She gestured to the padd in his hand. 

“Umm, yeah. I’m just reviewing it. You know how Rollins is about comma placement. And don’t even get me started on his feelings on ellipses…”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Don’t forget semicolons; no one can figure out how to use those.”

Tom smiled but then the silence stretched uncomfortably. B’Elanna still hadn’t looked above his chin, and he sighed as exasperation washed over him. “This is ridiculous, computer, halt turbolift.” She turned at that, her eyes finally flying to his. “Look, we’re going to be on this ship together for a long time.”

“You’re right. I’ve been thinking and we have to pretend none of this ever happened.” She was so sincere, like she’d found the perfect solution. 

“But something did happen, B’Elanna.” He was getting irked.

“Look, I appreciate what you did for me. But I—“

“What I did?” Tom’s voice rose. “Don’t you mean what we did? I seem to recall that you were there too, and that it was all your idea!”

She drew back as if slapped. “Well, I obviously wasn’t in my right mind!”

Well, that stung. “Look, B’Elanna—”

“No, you look, Tom. As far as I'm concerned, I was under the influence of some weird Vulcan chemical imbalance, and whatever I did, whatever I said, it wasn't me.”

Tom huffed. He wanted to push her against the ‘lift wall, pin her there with his body pressed fully against hers. He wanted to tear her uniform off with his teeth and then kiss her until they both ran out of breath. She was ...stimulating? his man-brain asked. Infuriating! 

“Yeah, I know,” he said hotly. “You're afraid that your big, scary Klingon side might have been showing. Well, I saw it up close, and you know, it wasn't so terrible. In fact, I wouldn't mind seeing it again someday.” He looked away, took a steadying breath. “Computer, resume.”

She drew back and stiffened, her free hand balling into a fist, and Tom registered that she was suddenly furious. The lift stopped, and she stomped out the open doors, throwing over her shoulder, “Be careful what you wish for, Lieutenant! Next time I might break your arm!”

It wasn’t until the doors had closed again that he realized when he’d mentioned her Klingon side, she’d thought he was talking about the sex. 

“When you set your sights on my clavicle, let me know!” He shouted it into the empty turbolift, and it made him feel a little better.

~~

“Computer, access ‘Paris Mushy Music’. Play something sad.”

:Please clarify request:

He sighed. “Play a sad love song for me.”

:Acknowledged: 

His quarters filled with the sound of violin, piano, and … saxophone? He wasn’t sure. Maybe he should have paid closer attention to Harry’s tutelage. 

_Old Man Sunshine, listen, you_  
_Never tell me dreams come true_  
_Just try it, and I'll start a riot_

“You said it,” Tom agreed. He stretched out on his couch and settled down to wallow in the rich swell of the music. 

_Beatrice Fairfax, don't you dare_  
_Ever tell me she will care_  
_I'm certain, It's the final curtain_

“Ha!” 

_I never want to hear from any cheerful Pollyannas_  
_Who tell you fate supplies a mate, it's all bananas_

“Oh, come on! Computer, ha—” He was interrupted by the sound of his door chime. He didn’t bother to get up. “Come in, Harry,” he called. His very own cheering section, faithful and true. 

_They're writing songs of love, but not for me_  
_A lucky star's above, but not for me_

“A little maudlin isn’t it, Mister Paris, even for you?”

“Captain!” He practically leapt to his feet. 

_With love to lead the way_  
_I found more skies of gray_  
_Than any Russian play could guarantee_

“I was just… I was… Computer—“

“No, no,” she held up her hand, smiling and halting his order to stop the playback. 

_I was a fool to fall, and get that way_  
_Hi-ho, alas, and also lack-a-day_

“Gershwin, isn’t it? Oh, I love these old songs. The orchestral music, the rich baritone voices of the singers. It’s lovely.”

 _Although I can't dismiss_  
_The memory of her kiss_  
_I guess she's not for me_

She raised an eyebrow and Tom felt his face heat with embarrassment. “I just asked the computer to play some music,” he said.

“Well, this seems pretty appropriate,” she teased.

 _Although I can't dismiss_  
_The memory of her kiss_  
_I guess she’s not for me._

The song ended and the silence was deafening. “But maybe not accurate.”

“Captain?” 

“Are you up on your Shakespeare, Tom?”

“Ummm… early British playwright. Lots of confusing lines that rhymed?”

“‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’ Give her time, Tom. She chose you, don’t forget that.”

“Well, I was there,” he replied. His voice was flat. He really didn’t want to discuss this with his captain. His female captain. 

She frowned. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” He gestured to the couch and settled on the other end when she sat. 

“When we were first pulled into the Delta Quadrant, and I made the decision to strand us here, I had my doubts that the two crews could be meshed together. But I knew that keeping Chakotay’s Maquis crew in the brig for seventy years wasn’t an option.”

“I’d have felt safer, the first few weeks,” Tom quipped.

She slanted a glance at him. “You were never in any danger, Tom. Chakotay saw to that.” 

He shifted, chagrined that she’d cut through his self-indulgent little pity party and made him feel guilty at the same time. 

“I can’t tell you how happy I was when you, Harry and B’Elanna first started to spend time together. And as I watched your friendship grow, it gave me hope that we would one day become a family.”

“Harry’s a good friend,” Tom hedged.

“You’re not the only ones,” Janeway continued. “There’s Lieutenant Ayala and Joe Carey’s weekly poker game.” 

“Poker game,” Tom repeated. “Really?”

Janeway snorted. “You’d best stay out of it Tom; your poker face needs work.” She smiled. “And what’s this I hear about Megan Delaney dating Crewman Gerron?”

“I thought it was Jenny?”

“Perhaps,” Janeway conceded.

“Well, it’s a small ship,” Tom said, feeling the urge to supply a response.

“Yes, and we have many miles to go before we’re home.” She paused and he shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry you were forced to do what you did on the planet.”

 _Don’t say it, please don’t say it,_ Tom thought. 

“That you were forced to...take your relationship with B’Elanna further than either of you were ready for.”

“Captain, I really—”

“Wait, Tom. I need to say this and, believe it or not, it’s not exactly easy. You did what you had to do, under very trying circumstances.”

“Above and beyond the call of duty,” Tom cut in, “I was real hero.”

She stared at him, assessing him. “Bitterness doesn’t suit you, Tom. But I think the real question, in light of your future hopes,” she raised a questioning eyebrow, “is how well did you _perform_ that duty?” 

A grin was tugging at her mouth and Tom didn’t know whether to feel anger or to join in with her humour at the outrageousness of the situation. “I’ve been wondering that myself,” he admitted. “Her pon farr resolved, but that might have been the fight with Vorik.”

“There’s an old Earth saying, popular with entertainers, ‘leave em wanting more’, but I’m guessing that might not apply to half-Klingon lovers?”

Tom felt his face heat again. Jesus, he was grown man! He should be able to discuss a ‘biological function’ with his captain. 

“Give her time. She’s embarrassed and upset. Give her some space. With a little distance she might start to think about what she’s missing.” 

It was reasonable, and made more so because he wanted to believe it. For the first time in days, he felt hopeful. The captain stood and headed for the door. “If I were a betting man, Mister Paris, my money’d be on you two to be together within...four months. Do you think you can hang on that long?”

“Captain, you’re not telling me that you wager on the personal lives of the crew?” A grin tugged at his mouth and he raised an enquiring eyebrow. 

“Oh, of course not! That would be irregular.”

“We’re strictly by-the-book on this ship,” Tom agreed. 

“Sweet dreams, Tom.” And she was gone. 

He lay back down on the couch and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Computer, resume playback.”

 _Someday she'll come along, the girl I love_  
_Her smile will be a song, the girl I love_  
_And when she comes my way_  
_I'll do my best to make her stay_

Tom sighed and closed his eyes. This Gershwin guy really knew his stuff. 

_I'll look at her and smile_  
_She'll understand_  
_And in a little while I'll take her hand_  
_And though it seems absurd_  
_I know we both won't say a word_

 _Maybe I will meet her Sunday_  
_Maybe Monday, maybe not_  
_But I'm sure I'll meet her one day_  
_Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day_

 _I'll build a little home, just meant for two_  
_From which we'll never roam; Who would, would you?_  
_And so all else above I'm waiting for the girl I love_

 _Someday she'll come along, the girl I love_  
_Her smile will be a song, the girl I love_  
_When she comes my way_  
_I'll do my best to make her stay_

 _I'll build a little home, just meant for two_  
_From which we'll never roam; Who would, would you?_  
_So all else above I'm waiting for the girl_  
_The girl I love!_

~~~

**Author's Note:**

> “But Not For Me" and “The Girl I Love/The Boy I Love”  
> as written by Ira Gershwin George Gershwin 1930/1927  
> Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
> 
> Also, I love Vorik. I really do. I’m sorry he got the shitty end of the stick here.


End file.
